


Burning the Embers

by Takada_Saiko



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Clerics, F/M, Pre-Curse, Rumbelle - Freeform, The Enchanted Forest, Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-28
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 07:59:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Takada_Saiko/pseuds/Takada_Saiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even as the powerful Dark One, Rumplestiltskin knows better than to let his guard down. He has many enemies, but few more powerful than a set of clerics determined to rid the worlds of the Dark One's Curse and its host along with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is reading Where Nightmares and Darkness Meet over on FFN, this is a different AU than that one is, where Rumplestiltskin has met these clerics before Storybooke. Please do note that there will be quite a bit of violence in the first half. You've been warned.

**Part One.**

He'd let his guard down. That's what happened when he didn't see them lurking in the shadows for a collection of decades. He didn't forget, necessarily, but he didn't watch nearly as carefully. Anyway, in more recent years he'd had plenty to watch for without worrying about a handful of pests. Cora had made herself a dangerous enough foe when she chose to play the part, and even though she was now stuck in that batty excuse for a world called Wonderland, her daughter was filling her role nicely. It was a delicate balance to keep Regina on track to casting the Dark Curse and make sure that she didn’t blow everything to hell long before. Her rage towards her precious little step-daughter was a sight to behold, and had been more than he could have ever even hoped for. If he could just contain her for a time everything would work out as planned for the casting of the curse and their trip to the Land Without Magic.

Rumplestiltskin had been so close to finding his son that he’d forgotten to look over his shoulder and it had cost him. Dearly.

A struggling moan escaped the Dark One as he began to resurface towards consciousness. He’d been out to make a deal with a some peasant that had called his name so desperately that he might have gone hoarse from it all, but when Rumplestiltskin showed the man hadn’t been alone. He’d made a deal, alright, just not with the one that he’d called, and vision had come too late. They always did with this lot. He still couldn’t be certain quite how they did that.

He shifted, finding his wrists bound down at his sides to what he thought might have been a table. It was a flat, hard surface, that much he could tell, but when he reached for his magic to search further he found it sluggish to come to his call. They’d done this to him once before and it had to do with some sort of light magic he had a hell of a time unravelling. His curse hated it, feeling it burn at him even as it settled over him like a wet blanket, suffocating his own darkness and keeping his magic within. It was there and he could feel it, but it wouldn’t come to the surface. Not yet.

Scaly fingers twitched, trying to catch ahold of the bindings, but they couldn’t quite reach. He lifted his head the best he could and strained to see, finding that the cuffs were made of metal that needed a key to turn them loose - _or magic_ , his curse reminded him as if that were helpful at all - and that his ankles were bound in the same way at the other end of the table. He grunted as he started to pull, feeling a tad claustrophobic in the otherwise open room and he pulled and yanked hard against the cuffs that were securely bolted to the table below him. His curse provided him with more strength than a simple spinner could have ever imagined, but it did nothing against this now.

“You won’t break them,” a voice that he had known nearly as long as he’d been the Dark One said from outside of his line of sight. “Nor will you be able to reach your magic to work its way through the locks. You’re trapped.”

“Am I now?” Rumplestiltskin asked, trying to keep his voice steady and force the fear that was clawing its way through him out of it. He was not the cowering spinner any longer. He was one of the most powerful dark sorcerers in the Enchanted Forest and beyond. People from worlds far beyond his own knew his name and told stories about things he had done. He was _not_ afraid of this man, not even bound and exposed as he was. “And tell me, Magnus,” he continued, calling the man’s name and a different kind of power resignated through that knowledge, “what are you going to do with me? I thought you learned last time that trying to control me was beyond even your reach without the Kris Dagger.”

“I have no interest in controlling you, Dark One,” Magnus said, and from the way his voice was moving he was walking through the room. Rumplestiltskin hadn’t heard him come in, nor could he hear the ancient cleric’s silent footsteps now, but his voice bounced off the walls enough to tell him that they weren’t in a large room. The lights were dim, possibly only one or two small torches on the far wall behind him - perhaps at the entrance way? - and he had to rely on his curse-enhanced vision to see the stone walls around him. He hadn’t bothered to try to get a look at his captor yet. No need to look like he was as anxious as he felt. “I have an interest in ending you once and for all.”

Magnus’ voice had shifted so suddenly that Rumplestiltskin had to forcibly keep himself from jumping at the sudden sound next to him. He looked up, finding a somewhat familiar face. This man had chased him down for nearly three centuries, but the last time they’d met had obviously left a mark on him. His eyes, once icy blue and fierce, were milky white now and surrounded by terrible scarring. The spell had been flung at him with such hate to fuel it that Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t have been surprised that it had left a mark, though blinding the cleric left him at least a little more satisfied than his current situation might have otherwise allowed. “Well look at you. No wonder I haven’t seen you in some time. Licking your wounds?”

The elder man smiled, though it was hardly a pleasant expression. Unlike Rumplestiltskin - who was much younger, though he couldn’t quite remember if he were just nearing or had already passed his third century of life - his teeth weren’t rotted with decay and while a bit of age clung to him, making him look something of an elder to his people, the lines of his face were harsh and determined, just as Magnus was. He had but one goal in his many, many centuries of existence: to end the Dark One. Rumplestiltskin just happened to be the curse’s oh-so lucky host.

Magnus bent down, sending a chill sweeping through the trapped man that he could quite crush down. “I’ve spent my time preparing for this very moment.”

“You’ve spent a millenia trying to destroy my curse. What could you have possibly uncovered to make you think you’ve found just the thing?”

The smile broadened and Magnus reached a hand to take hold of Rumplestiltskin’s chin, fingers wrapping around his jaw and squeezing. He might not be able to physically see him, but there was no doubt that the cleric could see through his magic that had proven itself time and again to be immensely powerful. “The missing key to what I began all those years ago,” he answered unhelpfully and let go.

Rumplestiltskin didn’t like the ache that lingered in his jaw, even after the grip had loosened and he didn’t like how Magnus moved behind him again and out of his line of sight. His magic was bound and useless, but even so the madman couldn’t expect to actually snuff his life out, could he? If he truly thought so, this could quickly descend into a very unpleasant experience. “So where are your lackies?” the Dark One managed, trying to gage his position again.

“This is between you and I today, Rumplestiltskin.”

Another involuntary shudder shook him. It was rare for the cleric to use his name like that. He understood the power behind names just the same as Rumplestiltskin himself did. “When I get out of here, I’ll do more than take your sight this time. Don’t underestimate me.”

“You’re afraid,” Mangus mused, circling back around and reptilian gold eyes saw the bare light glint off something sharp in his hand. “Good.”

For one terrifying moment Rumplestiltskin thought that he recognized the knife in Magnus’ hand, but as he drew closer he saw sharp, straight edges with smooth sides. It was the handle to which the attention had been paid. Threads wove in and around each other, the exact colours lost to the shadows, but they worked their way in and around and between each other as if joining in a dance. Magic was woven in there, and the gem at the top of the hilt was the same pale blue that Magnus’ eyes had once been.

“You can’t kill me with that, you know.” He did not sound nervous. He was the Dark One. He was _not_ afraid.

         “I am aware that I can’t kill you with this,” Magnus answered evenly and a wave of his free hand stole Rumplestiltskin's fine silk shirt and dragon skin vest away to leave his bare back pressed against the cool table and the panic welling from even deeper. He struggled to control it, but he had nothing. He couldn’t reach his magic and he couldn’t move away. The magic that stirred around them - Magnus’ magic, of course - caused him to shudder and he pulled in what he hoped was a steadying breath, leveling a dark glare in the cleric’s direction. He could handle pain, and as he had just admitted, that dagger was not powerful enough to end his life. He needed to stop allowing this man to distract him. If he could search out the thread in the spell that dampened his magic he could unravel it and free himself. That was the goal and one that he’d focus on readily.

That focus was jerked away as the sharp tip of the knife pressed down against his bare skin just below his sternum, splitting only the top layers. It took an enchanted blade or someone that possessed an incredible will and strength to be able to cut him and Magnus had both. Rumplestiltskin’s teeth grit as the cleric showed himself in now hurry to cut just a little deeper and he could feel warm blood bubbling from the shallow wound. The pain was inconsequential so far, but it was irksome. “You planning on seeing which of us dies of old age then, dearie? I assure you that you’ll go first.” He wasn’t entirely certain what deal the old man had made to keep his life going so long, but magic like that always came tainted in darkness.

Magnus pressed down, the blade dipping lower and pain came with it, but that was only because he was biding his time. Magnus would cause more pain if Rumplestiltskin remained bound as his prisoner, and his curse was raging  in his mind with all the many ways that he should destroy this insolent cleric. _I will,_ its host swore. _This time I will._

“No, I shouldn’t think it will take quite that long.”

“Then get on with it, won’t you?”

A low, throaty chuckle left the elder man. “So eager to die?”

“I’m ready to be free of your damn table and absurd prattling,” the Dark One snapped and he tried to twist away from the knife. His wrist and ankles were bound, but he could move a little at least. It wasn’t dug in deep yet and, while he had nowhere to go after he got free of it, he wanted to at least make it difficult.

“Be still,” Magnus commanded and Rumplestiltskin squirmed hard in protest. One large hand grabbed the side of his face, thumb pressing harder against his jawline than the knife had against his skin and the rest of his fingers curled around behind his neck, gripping hard. “You are the most human of any Dark One that has ever lived, and that is your weakness.”

Rumplestiltskin couldn’t choke back the cry as Magnus dug the knife deep. His body jerked and his back arched against the pain. Breathing became difficult and his curse was howling, though it took him a moment to realize that it was against more than just the physical pain of the wound. The knife that Magnus was using was powerful and he could feel it pulling at him from inside, reaching and grabbing and taking. A terrible sound bounced off the stone walls, and as it wasn’t the cleric that made it, Rumplestiltskin could only assume it had come from him.

“Do you know how your curse was formed?” the elder man asked almost conversationally. “It was a mistake. One that went terribly wrong and it has haunted me all the days of my life since. I thought-” he twisted the knife and Rumplestiltskin screamed - “I had everything in place. I was going to rid the world of dark magic. I was going to protect my people. Instead, I overlooked the most vital piece of the puzzle and instead created the Dark One’s Curse.” He let go of the dagger, leaving it buried where he’d put it. Rumplestiltskin could feel something reaching out from it, taking hold, and he tasted blood as he coughed. “I’ve found that piece now, and I’ll use it to end your curse. You’ll go with it, but I would been lying to say that will weigh on my soul.”

“What have you done?” he managed, the question halted and pained.

“I haven’t done it yet,” Mangus answered, his sightless gaze unnerving as it came to rest on him. “Though I’ve gained what I need to put the final piece into play. Your blood fused with your magic.” He took hold of the hilt without warning and tore the blade from Rumplestiltskin, pulling another terrible cry from him that left him gasping. His throat ached, but that was the least of his worries now. His magic had been desperate to try to close the wound as soon as it had been made, even though it was so terrible limited right now.

Gold eyes flickered up, finding the knife held firmly in the cleric’s hand, and it was indeed covered with his blood. He’d thought the blade was smooth before, but now that it was coated he could see the etchings of old runes carved into the steel, soaking it up and the gem was darkening even as he watched.

Magnus stepped closer and Rumplestiltskin resisted the urge to try to squirm away again. Even breathing was sending sharp pain lacing through his core and more blood than one have been healthy for a mortal man to lose was pouring out of it. With his free hand, the cleric reached forward, pressing his palm against the gaping wound and the Dark One stiffened. “You have what you need,” he managed through clenched teeth and thoroughly unable to fight back. If he could get him to go, if he could manage some time to think, he might find a way out of this. He had to. He was so close. He couldn’t fail Bae again.

“And this is what I _want_ ,” his captor chucked, fingers curling into the wound so that Rumplestiltskin’s gasp sounded as if someone were dragging the air from him. “You still don’t understand, even after all these years. There is no length I will not go, no deed I will not undertake to undo you. You are just one of many, an ember that stokes the flame of a greater darkness that I will snuff out. It ends with you.”  He tightened his grip again until the younger man’s vision began to dull, shadows flittering across it and the pain became further and further away. He fought until he couldn’t fight it any longer, Bae’s name on his lips as he passed out.

* * *

 

He didn’t know how long he was out for, but when he started to come to, all he could feel was the pain. His curse was raging, demanding that he break free and do _something_ , yet not giving him the means by which to do so. He tried to shift a little and found only pain in doing so.

Rumplestiltskin was alone as best as he could tell. The only sounds that greeted him were the soft cracking of the torches by the entrance and his own ragged breathing. He strained, listening for signs of guards keeping watch, and when he was fairly certain that there weren't any he closed his eyes. He wouldn't let himself slip into unconsciousness this time, but focused everything he had in the spell that still contained his magic. The threads were strong and tightly woven. Great care was put into this spell's fashioning, and even on a good day it would take a bit to unravel. He set to work.

"You almost had me fooled, Dark One," Magnus' voice filtered in some time later. As best as he could tell he had worked his way through five layers of the spell so far, finding one layer that had been hidden. He was lucky he's seen it in time, because triggering that hidden snag would have set him back to the beginning.

Magnus leaned in when Rumplestiltskin refused to respond, his breath hot on the younger man's face. "I thought you hadn't come around yet. There are a few times that I'm pleased to be wrong."

Rumplestiltskin’s eyes flew open as his captor pressed down on the wound that he’d been purposefully ignoring. Pain shot through him and his back arched off the table, the rest of him kept still by the cuffs locking his wrists and ankles down. His vision pulsed, whiting out as Magnus dug the palm of his hand down against the wound and he choked on his own scream. He could taste blood and he was starting to wonder just how well his old enemy had thought this through. Perhaps he really had gotten one step ahead of him.

No, he reminded himself desperately. He need to survive this. Dying here would leave Bae alone in the Land Without Magic. He needed to find his son and tell him what a fool he’d been to let him go. He had to wrap his arms around him and beg his forgiveness. He would give up everything for that one moment. He would pay any price, but he’d be damned if he died before then.

Magic lashed out, driven by that desperation, and while Magnus’ spell quickly caught hold of it he saw the old cleric flinch back just a little as the darkness of his curse sliced into him and left a long mark across his cheek. “You are a foolish one and always have been. Give in and I will make this quick.”

“No,” Rumplestiltskin growled and reached for his magic again, burning through the holding spell with sheer determination. He usually preferred a less direct approach, but he was quickly running out of option.

Magnus snorted, but this time when pressed his hand flat against the wound it began to glow. Light magic gathered around it and the Dark One saw the dagger he’d used on him before clutched in the opposite hand. The gem, first blue, then dark, was now bright and Rumplestiltskin realized too late what the cleric was trying to do.

He had asked his captive before if he knew how the Dark One’s Curse was formed, and he had. Rumplestiltskin was no fool, despite the protest to counter that, and he had studied his own curse in great detail at the first possible moment and at each moment that presented itself after. He had scoured the lands for information and had found bits and pieces that were actually relative, including a sect of clerics from nearly a millennia before that had sought to do away with all dark magic by containing it in a vault. They were all dead by the time Rumplestiltskin took the curse, of course. Well, all except one.

The missing piece that Magnus had referred to must have been the spell woven into the hilt of the dagger. He’d needed Rumplestiltskin’s blood mixed with his magic to bind it to him, but now the determined old cleric was forcing the spell that should have once been used to do away with the darkest magics in the world on one man. He drew it from the knife, using himself to direct it straight into Rumplestiltskin.

Pure light magic ripped through him and he’d never known pain like it before. He screamed, convulsing as wildly as his restraints would allow. If he were anything less, his wrists and ankles would have been broken by the movements against the unforgiving cuffs, but at least his curse did that much. It held him mostly together, but it wouldn’t for long.

“ _This_ is what I’ve been waiting for. The day the ember burns out,” Magnus growled in his ear. “This is your end after so many, many years.”

As old as he was - Magnus was at least three times older - there were many times that Rumplestiltskin was certain that he didn’t see any difference from one Dark One to the next. It was almost as if they were the same person with different faces that hardly mattered, but he _was_ different than Zoso, and he thought that he was likely very different than the ones before him as well. He had something beyond himself to live for. He had a purpose.

Another shriek ripped through him as he felt the light magic tearing and pushing through the wound in his middle. The world around him had been swallowed by the pain and he was swimming against the current that threatened to overtake him. If let it, if he gave for even an instant, it would destroy him. His curse knew that too and was just as desperate as its host to find a way to break free.

A low, throaty chuckle sounded somewhere just beyond the mind-numbing pain and he thought Magnus might have been enjoying himself a bit too much. He was just distracted enough by his twisted pleasure that he didn’t notice that the former spinner had found exactly what he had been looking for. It took everything he had, but Rumplestiltskin reached, grasping hold of the loose thread to the magic and pulled it with all the desperation, not of a demon trying to survive, but of a father still looking for his son. If he’d been fighting for anything less, it might not have come loose, but it began to unravel, and though the magic still pulsed through him, gold eyes met milky white ones and Magnus knew his mistake as Rumplestiltskin’s cuffs snapped open and he disappeared, teleporting away.

 

* * *

 

He hit hard, slamming to the rug-covered marble floor of the Dark Castle's great hall. He curled in on himself and shook uncontrollably. He was home, but that certainly wasn't enough. He had used up more energy than he should have been able to reach out for in his present condition just to get away, and now he was left helpless and trembling in his own home. Unless he was able to counter the poisonous magic racing through his system it would kill him, he had no doubt about that.

A soft moan escaped him as he tried to get his arms under him to push himself up off the floor. Rumplestiltskin didn't make it very far as his muscles gave out, landing him face first back to the ornate carpet. He couldn't move and the spell continued to shred him from the inside out. Everything was on fire, the white-hot spell coursing through his veins and he coughed, tasting blood.

“Rumplestiltskin?”

He couldn’t breathe and could barely think. He’d heard his name, but who would be calling him in his own castle? His mind was muddled and he couldn’t think who would be there. He was alone. Always alone.

The doors opened with a scraping sound against the floor and a startled gasp filled the rather large room. “Rumplestiltskin!”

Hands were on him in an instant, brushing back damp hair and one came to the side of his face. He jerked away as best as he could, but the touch was much softer than the grip Magnus had had on him. She - the owner of the hands and the voice, he assumed - loosed a list of questions he really hoped she didn’t expect him to answer. He couldn’t even bring himself to open his eyes now and that voice was fading. Who was she anyway, this woman that sounded so desperate to keep him awake? He managed to crack one golden eye open and he saw the face of his little maid.

“Belle?” The name left his bloody lips on an exhaled breath and it wouldn’t have made it into the open any other way. Even that sent a flood of pain through him he curled a little more into himself.

“You’re bleeding,” she managed, her voice sounding as if she were confused by the notion. “Why isn’t your magic stopping it?”

Oh. She expected an answer, didn’t she? “Can’t.”

Her hands were small and likely trying to be gentle with the way that she touched him, but she was attempting to shift him onto his back now and he let out what sounded in his mind like a howl of pain. In reality it was more of a whimper, soft and breathless. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and her hand came to brush his hair back and out of his face again. Somehow she’d managed to get him where she wanted him and the cool marble reminded him just how exposed he was. His bare back pressed against it as the little bookworm of a maid tried to look brave as she studied the terrible wound. She pulled in a sharp breath and determination filled those clear blue eyes as she reached around to untie her apron and before Rumplestiltskin knew it she was pressing it against the knife wound. “I’m sorry,” she said again as he trembled. “I’m so sorry. I have to stop the bleeding. It just won’t stop.”

“Poison,” he choked and managed to turn his head to the side as blood rose in his throat. Well, pure light magic in a form that likely had never been intended to be thrust into a being, human or otherwise. Most practitioners of light magic were very strict with its use and torturing someone to death - even the Dark One himself - was beyond what they were willing to do. Not Magnus, though. He didn’t care a damn for all he swore he stood for. Nothing got in the way of his goals, and Rumplestiltskin feared that perhaps he’d reached them this time. He looked up, finding blue eyes staring down at him and he worked up the strength to tell her the truth. “Dying.”

“You’re not going to die,” Belle said sternly, as if she were giving him an order. He snorted softly, despite everything, finding it amusing in his ocean of misery that this little girl, this _child_ thought she could give him an order, even if it was to stay alive. She glared, not as amused as he was. “You’re not. I’m going to save you. Here.” Her fingers closed around his own limp wrist at his side and pressed his palm of his hand down against her now bloodsoaked apron. “Don’t move it. Can you tell me anything in your work tower that can help?”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard. She wanted to help him, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. She should have grabbed his chair, sat back, and watched the show of an immortal man bleeding out on his own floor of his gaudy castle that did nothing to fill the void left by those he’d lost. This was her ticket to freedom, yet she wanted to help save him. “Why?” he croaked finally.

“Because if I don’t do something you really will die!” she snapped.  “Now tell me or I’ll go rifle through your potions until I find something that looks remotely useful.”

He blinked up at her. “No,” he managed. He couldn’t have her doing that. What he needed was specific, and she’d never find it if she weren’t specifically looking for it. That’s how the charm on it worked. Two items were required to pull him back from the brink that he currently teetered on, and while one was accessible in his tower, the other was locked away in the doorless, windowless vault that he kept. She had no way in or out other than if he chose to send her, and even if he did he couldn’t risk her taking hold of the item he needed. His aversion to sending her there had everything to do with that and absolutely _nothing_ to do with the fact that if he passed out - or worse - while she was there she would be stuck until she died. No, it had nothing to do with that at all.

“Rumplestiltskin?” Belle called, her voice pitched up with fear and he blinked, realizing that he’d been slipping away again.

“I’m here. I need… two things. I’ll get one.”

“You can’t move.”

“Don’t have to.”

She nodded, her dark auburn hair falling from the loose braid she wore it in today. Perhaps she’d actually been doing her job for once instead of tucking herself away in that library that he’d given to her. “What do you need me to go get?”

He pulled as deep of a breath in as he dared without sending himself into a coughing fit. “Look for the small vial at the furthest cupboard from the window. Darkest corner of the room.” He paused, focused entirely on breathing and not passing out for the moments that ticked by. When he was fairly certain he had bested it - at least for the moment - he continued his halted instructions. “It… won’t be marked. No liquid, only swirling mist. Very dark, like a storm.”

“Okay,” she said and caught his eyes. “Don’t let up pressure here.”

He thought she might have squeezed the hand she’d put over the apron, but he couldn’t be sure. It had gone numb and the rest of him was quickly following. He had to focus though, because while the Kris Dagger would come to his call, he didn’t dare risk it being intercepted or all of this being a trap laid out by Magnus to waltz in and take it from him as it lay loosely in his numbed grasp. No matter the risk, though, he needed it. Rumplestiltskin called and the dagger came, fitting into his grasp like it was made for it. He tried to find something to focus on, but there was nothing, only the retreating footsteps of a maid that likely wouldn’t make it back in time, and as even that faded all he could think of was how he’d somehow managed to fail Bae all over again. The ceiling blurred into shapeless colours before the shadows finally swallowed those too and Rumplestiltskin’s grip on consciousness finally slipped.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

She took the stairs three at a time where she could. The tower was in the westernmost part of the castle and secluded there with only a few rooms that she wasn’t allowed in to keep it company. She was only really allowed in the work tower if Rumplestiltskin was in there as well or had specifically instructed her to clean it. It was just as well most days. Some of his more creative experiments had a tendency to explode without warning and leave nasty goop caking the walls. She wouldn’t be caught dead near it when it happened or she’d take the blame.

Belle would have given a great deal to hear him gripe and complain about what a terrible maid she’d turned out to be at that very moment. When he did so it always sounded as if he were filling the silence so that he wouldn’t say something nice and give away the fact that he wasn’t quite the monster that he wanted everyone to see him as. Not than anyone would ever mistake him for one now.

The young noblewoman tried to push the vision of the man that she was slowly coming to think of as a friend as well as her employer out of her mind. He’d been pale beneath his usual grey-gold scales and his veins stood out, glowing through his skin with an eerie sort of light that looked to be hurting him. His hair had slicked back with sweat, his features drawn, and the wound just below his sternum likely would have killed a mortal man. She couldn’t imagine what could have done that to Rumplestiltskin, and she wasn’t sure that she wanted to find out. She had thought he was immortal, but everything about his current state screamed that her time to find something to help him was very, very limited.

Belle hit the top step and crossed the small work tower quicker than she ever had before. The darkest corner was indeed the one tucked furthest away from the window. The shelves and cupboards there were shielded from any light by a lumbering set of shelves that she didn’t think he actually used and she hopped over a chest to get to it. She had to squint in the darkness to see what she was doing, but finally she found the little key that she could turn to open it.

She looked right over it the potion the first time and she could only imagine that it had been spelled to remain uninteresting to someone that was not looking specifically for it. The container was narrow at the top, blossoming out at the bottom and the magic inside was darker than she had ever seen. How this was going to help him she couldn’t be sure and she _really_ didn’t want to know what the price was to make something like this. The mist swirled angrily, slapping against the corked vial as if it were trying to get out. The closer she looked, the more she though that she could almost hear it whispering terrible things at her.

_Destroyer. Traitor. Enemy. Distraction. Belle._

Blue eyes blinked owlishly at the container. She had heard her name. The _mist_ had said her name. Whatever this potion was frightened her, but she couldn’t let that stop her. Rumplestiltskin had indicated this was how he’d fight the poison that was tearing him apart and she needed to get it to him.

Belle held tight to the bottle in her hand as she ran down the stairs and back towards the great hall. She’d left the doors open wide and saw the injured man laid out on the floor still as death. He’d gone a little paler, if that were possible, with the exception of the increasingly unnerving glow that seemed trying to rip through him. The hand that she’d told him to hold the apron on was still resting against his stomach, but his fingers were loose against the fabric, and the other hand held a strange dagger that she’d never seen before.

She sank to his side, carefully setting the vial down and she reached down to his wrist to check for a pulse. Her fingers were trembling and she wasn’t quite sure if she felt her own blood pounding through her veins or if it was his pulse, so she pulled the knife in his hand out gently to check for breath. That seemed to snap him awake and gold eyes flew open, wild and dangerous as he was suddenly coming at her. Belle was so surprised at the sudden movement that the dagger clattered to the floor and Rumplestiltskin doubled over, gasping and sputtering and coughing. Blood spilled to the floor from his lips and she felt the panic rising even as she tried to crush it. Fear wouldn’t help him.

Rumplestiltskin was trembling like mad when she reached forward, her fingers touching the bare skin of his arm and she moved the other to his face. He turned wide, terrified eyes on her. “Don’t touch it,” he rasped and Belle found herself nodding.

“Okay.”

He fell back, one hand clutching desperately at his midsection and the other trying to balance him. Belle immediately moved to steady him. “I brought the potion you said to bring,” she said softly and saw his gaze flicker to it. “Is that the right one?”

“Yes.”

“Can I do anything more?”

He bit his lip, looking very much like he were silently arguing with himself over something. Finally he grimaced. “Hold me steady?”

“Sure.”

“And hand it to me.”

Belle reached out for the vial and set it in his unsteady hand. He brought the dagger up with the other, leaning heavily back against her, and as he waved it over the bottle the cork disappeared.  She watched curiously as the mist thickened, turning to a sort of paste before settling out into a thick liquid. Rumplestiltskin glanced back at her. “Make sure I drink it all or it’s all been worthless,” he said roughly and she nodded her understanding.

His hand was shaking as he raised the vial to his lips and she reached around him to hold it steadier, her smaller hand pressed against his scaly gold one and her thumb moved over the skin there in a soothing motion. She felt him tense against her as the liquid started down his throat and when his fingers tried to loosen around the glass she made sure he was holding tight until the last drop.

It started working - at least, she hoped that’s what it was doing, but she couldn’t be sure - about halfway through the liquid. That was when she had to work to make him swallow the rest. When it was finished, the strange glow that was work its way through his veins increased and his back arched, a strangled cry escaping him and Belle had to let go of his hand to make sure she had a hold on the rest of him. The glass shattered against the marble floor and she had both arms around him to try to hold him steady. It quickly became apparent that there was no steadying him during this horrible process and she helped ease him down, his head in her lap so that he wouldn’t crack his skull against the hard floor and add that to his list of injuries.

Rumplestiltskin was shaking violently now, screaming in a way that she wouldn’t have thought he would have the strength to manage. Belle didn’t know what to do so she settled on speaking lowly to him as she brushed his hair back and away from his face. This went on and on until she lost track of time. Finally, and quite suddenly, he went quiet, slumping against her and going entirely limp.

Belle bit her lip, fingers finding what she was certain was a pulse this time and the glow seemed to have faded. Whatever he’d forced down his throat was fighting the poison that was in him and it seemed to be winning - or at least she _hoped_ it was winning - but now she wasn’t sure what to do. She had an unconscious Dark One in her lap and a lot of space between there and anywhere he might have been more comfortable. He likely had a room somewhere in the castle, but she’d be damned if she knew where it was, and the only other room she was certain was furnished with a bed that he could sleep the remaining sickness off was her own, and that was in the easternmost side of the castle.

“Rumplestiltskin?” she whispered, her voice larger than it should have been in the unnaturally quiet room. “Can you hear me?”

He didn’t stir, but he was breathing and that was a start. Her fingers that had been buried in his hair moved down to his face and they traced the lines there, finding them much more human even if they hid behind a mask of a demon. Her vision blurred a little and she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head that he never would have stood for if he were awake. “Please don’t die.”

She eased him to the floor and scurried off to make preparations. He kept a rug that she was certain that she’d seen fly a couple of times since she’d been there, and if she could get him onto it she could use that to get him to the room. She’d seen where he kept the bandages and healing ointments tucked away after she’d refused to let him heal a cut on her arm that she’d received in her first week with him. She’d been so convinced that the price might be going and rounding up a small child for his dinner or something along those lines she hadn’t wanted him to come anywhere near it. Rumplestiltskin had fussed and complained the whole way through, but he’d given her the bandages and that had been that. Thinking back on it now she felt a little silly, but he certainly hadn’t done anything at the time to make her believe he was anything less than the demon he pretended to be.

He was burning up by the time she got back downstairs to him with the rug in tow and finally got him onto it. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, or at least slowed, but he hadn’t stirred and didn’t the whole trip up the stairs into the easter wing. The carpet was very accommodating in the task she set before it and she had him tucked away in her bed as quickly as possible, pillows under his head in case another fit overcame him and he started thrashing around again.

Belle pulled a chair to the side of the bed and dipped a clean rag into the warm water on the nightstand, cleaning the dried blood away carefully. He was barefoot and shirtless, two things she’d never seen in her employer, and she wondered how a simple deal that he’d groused about all morning two days before had gone so terribly.

A moan escaped him as she started to clean the blood from the wound itself and she winced, trying very hard to ignore it so that she could do what needed to be done.

“Belle?”

She looked over at him, finding reptilian-like eyes staring drowsily back at her. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he admitted softly, his voice low and almost human. There were no giggles or high pitched laughs tonight, only pain and hopefully healing.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry for you that you’re in pain,” she murmured, a touch of a smile perking her lips. He wasn’t one that would readily accept help and she was certain that there were many stories behind the reason. There was only one that she was interested in though, and that was the one that she was sure she’d never hear if she didn’t ask for it now. “What happened, Rumplestiltskin?”

His gaze shifted, looking anywhere but her eyes and his lips twitched downward in stubborn silence.

Belle sighed, taking a different approach. “Are we in danger here?”

“I don’t think so.”

That was certainly more honest than normal. Good. That meant that she might get something out him yet. “Did the potion work?”

“It is working.” He sighed, settling back into the pillows. “It’ll take some time.”

Belle reached for the ointment meant to keep infection away and poured it on a cloth. “This may sting,” she warned and pressed it down as gently as she could. _Sting_ was an understatement and they both knew it, and she nearly lost him to unconsciousness again. He hung on though, and she offered him an apologetic look. “What could do this to someone like you?” she asked after a moment.

“Magic,” he gasped, eyes closed tightly and his entire body rigid. “Light magic.”

“But I thought light magic helped people?”

“Not when used against a dark creature such as myself.”

Belle watched the way his face screwed up in pain and his hands nearly tore a hole in her bed sheets as his fingers wrapped in and around them, desperate to hold onto something in the pain. She carefully extended her own, touching the top of his hand, and that brought his attention around on her again. The questions could wait. He needed to be well more than she needed her curiosity quenched. “Is it safe for you to sleep?”

“Better, probably.”

“Okay, then get some sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

He tilted his head just a little at her, but didn’t argue. Instead his eyelids grew heavy and she watched him drift until they closed. Belle waited until she was certain that he was well and truly asleep before pulling the cloth carefully from the wound and finished the wrappings. When she’d washed the blood from her hands and tossed her soiled dress into the corner to be either cleaned with magic or burned - she thought she preferred burned at this point, as she never wanted to remember this night - she slipped a loose sleeping gown over her head and crawled in on the other side of the bed. Rumpelstiltskin was feverish and a little restless, but she took his hand beneath the covers and nestled in next to him with her forehead pressed against his bare shoulder. It was inappropriate, she knew, and he’d likely moan and complain about it for weeks, but for now it seemed to calm him and so she would stay. “Sleep well,” she whispered into the darkness of the room and settled in to sleep.

 

Rumplestiltskin woke slowly the next morning, finding himself in an unfamiliar bed. Being in a bed at all was a rarity, as he hardly slept and when he did it was often in his work tower when he simply passed out over whatever project had kept his attention for a long enough length that his body gave up on him. He had a bed, certainly, though it remained mostly unused and had for quite some time. There were too many things to be done to lounge around all night. He had a curse to orchestrate, and not just any curse. The Curse to End All Curses. Sleep could usually wait.

He shifted, feeling that his body was slow to respond to his commands. Everything ached and he forced his mind into action to find the last thing he clearly remembered.

There’d been call from some poor, desperate soul that turned out not to be quite so desperate after all. He had been calling on behalf of Magnus, and suddenly Rumplestiltskin understood why he was still hurting so badly. Memories that he would have much rather had left elsewhere flooded through him and he cringed at the flashes of pain and utter misery that Magnus’ spell had brought on him. Pure light magic did terrible things to the Dark One, and pure light magic of that power had nearly killed him. He’d escaped, though, and teleported himself away.

Golden eyes blinked, staring up. There was a thin material stretched out over the bed in which he lay. It was sheer, giving him a distorted view of the ornate ceiling. He was in his castle, there was no question about that, but he wasn’t sure he remembered this room. Not that there weren’t plenty of rooms that he’d never bothered to even step foot in, but this one he felt like he should.

Just the thought of shifting to sit up and look around made his body ache in protest. He felt his magic healing him, but a fraction of a memory flickered through his mind and he had told someone that it would take time. What would? He didn’t like the fact that his mind seemed incapable of wrapping around the whole truth. He wanted to know what had happened - even if he didn’t like it - so that he might avoid it in the future. He was too close to let something like this happen again. He didn’t dare.

There was a soft sound in the bed next to him and Rumplestiltskin looked over, blinking in surprise. His little maid was curled up next to him, her small hand resting on his arm as if she were worried that he might disappear. Slowly, the rest of what had happened became clearer to him. Belle had saved his life. If she hadn’t been there, if she hadn’t willingly offered her help, he would have been dead. He pushed his curse’s immediate grousing aside in lieu of a moment of gratitude. She never had to know.

He watched her for a moment. She had stirred, but hadn’t woken. Instead, something had made her nestle just a little closer, her forehead touching his bare shoulder and she sighed in her sleep. He hadn’t been giving her enough credit, though he’d never admit that out loud. When he’d told her to do something, she’d rushed to it and delivered with full results. This girl, this little maid that he’d bargained for on a whim, had somehow proven herself very loyal to him the night before, and he wasn’t quite sure why she would bother, especially given what he’d asked her to do. Thinking back on it now, if he’d been in any less pain or in any clearer state of mind, he never would have asked her to take the vial from his shelves. The pure, utter darkness that swirled within that glass would have torn at most decent, mortal souls and caused more fear than should have allowed her to move forward with it. There were really only two explanations for the fact that she’d managed to get it down to him. The first was that she was secretly a dark and evil sorceress, but that was absurd enough to make him cough out a laugh. The second was that she really had wanted to save him and that she cared about him. That second option was more dangerous than the first, in his opinion. He’d thought people had cared before, but they always betrayed him in the end. He needed to be very careful moving forward and not let her get any closer than she already had.

Belle stirred again, and this time clear blue eyes fluttered open and came to focus on him. He froze where he was - which was looking straight at her - and blinked. A small smile crossed her pretty lips. “You’re awake.”

“It would appear I am, though I am curious what you are doing in the same bed.”

“It’s my bed,” Belle answered practically. “I didn’t know where yours was, and I was hardly going to leave you lying on the floor of the great hall all night.” She reached forward without warning, her hand brushing the side of his face. “You still have a bit of a feaver. How are you feeling?”

Rumplestiltskin pulled in a deep breath, doing the first honest assessment of himself that he’d dared. His head ached terribly, but that would pass, and the stiff and achy feeling in his muscles likely came from the fever. He’d kicked the worse of it, he knew, but that didn’t mean that he was one-hundred percent quite yet. “I’ll live,” he murmured after a moment.

“How much do you remember?”

He tilted his head back and forth against the pillow, receiving a satisfying pop that made her cringe. “Most of it, I believe. I… suppose I owe you something of a thank you.”

“Something of,” she teased and damn it all he was not blushing. That was the fever. It was still playing tricks with his mind.

“What was in the bottle that you had me fetch for you?”

Golden eyes watched her carefully. He’d never told a soul - not even Cora - that he’d managed to bottle a bit of his own curse. He’d hit the end of what books could teach him about it and the curse itself had little interest in its host knowing everything, especially when said host had made a deal with his young son once upon a long time ago that he would give up the Dark One’s Curse as long as it did not cost him his life to do so. He’d continued his studies on his own and had given into some of his curse’s darker tendencies to do it. He was a monster, he knew, and that made him wonder all the more why this brave little maid didn’t listen to what her own natural instincts must have been screaming at her.

“Just a bit of very dark magic,” he said after some thought.

“What about the knife?”

Panic immediately took hold and he sat straight up in the bed. His healing wounds pulled with the sudden movement, but he didn’t care, and he turned a wild expression on her. “Where is it?”

Belle looked a little taken back. “I left it where you dropped it last night. It’s downstairs. You said not to touch it again.”

There was no good answer and he knew that. If she hadn’t just saved his life he didn’t think he would have been able to remind himself of it, but she had, so he did, and instead of loosing his rather formidable temper on her, he simply vanished from the bed and landed hard on his knees just outside the great hall. His magic tossed him down like it were angry at him for demanding this kind of effort so quickly after the ordeal he’d been through, but he didn’t wait for the stinging that the landing caused to subside before he struggled to his feet - still bare and the marble of the castle floor was cold! - and stumbled to where the Kris Dagger still lay abandoned on the carpet inside the room itself. His breathing was ragged as he took it up, inspected it, and saw that it was no worse for wear. Of course it wasn’t, but he’d never just left it sitting out before. He would have had to be a mad man to do so. His soul was tied to it and he’d be damned if he’d let someone control him like Zoso had.

“Rumplestiltskin?” a quiet voice called from the other side of the giant doors that were still open. He heard Belle’s bare feet hitting the marble of the staircase as she descended and she peaked around the door, holding a shawl around her shoulders to battle the chill that her thin nightdress likely did nothing for. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” he managed, the dagger vanishing from his hands and put safely back into the vault where no one but him could reach it. It was safe. He was safe. Magnus would not get it.

“I’m sorry, but should I have taken it upstairs? I wasn’t sure if-”

“No. Never touch it.”

She nodded, seeming to accept his answer and lack of further explanation. She crossed the space between them and he looked down, realizing that the only covering he had over his chest were the bandages that she had fastened in place. He had never been a good patient, even before his curse, and he couldn’t imagine that he’d been any help at all last night. His hand went to the bandages and he felt a twinge from the wound not quite healed, causing him to look around at the stains he’d left on the carpet the night before. Belle followed his gaze, frowning at them and he felt a little sheepish. “I’ll take care of them,” he said quickly and found her clear eyes turned back on him. He swallowed, feeling uncomfortable. “Well, you’d get distracted by some book halfway through and it’d never get done,” he snapped without any real hostility behind his voice.

Belle’s lips quirked up a little at the edges. “Thank you.”

He snorted, trying to keep himself detached, but it was becoming more difficult by the moment as she moved closer. Rumplestiltskin didn’t know why she was until his knees suddenly gave out beneath him and he helped ease him down the the floor. “You should rest.”

“Likely should,” he agreed drowsily and he mentally kicked himself. _Don’t show her weakness,_ his curse growled. _She’ll use it to destroy you. Just like Cora. Just like Milah._

But she hadn't, and Rumplestiltskin couldn’t forget that, nor could he completely ignore how comforting the arm that slipped behind his back to help steady him as he stood and they moved carefully towards and up the stairs. He was feverish and ill, and that would be his excuse. He didn’t care for this woman - he most certainly didn’t love her - and the feelings that stirred within his dark and scarred heart were only an illusion. They had to be, because he’d learned his lesson. He had risked loving one woman when he’d sworn he’d love no one else until he found his son and it had nearly destroyed him. He was no fool and he would not make the same mistake twice.

“You okay?” Belle’s soft voice drifted into his ears and he realized they were standing next to the bed that they’d both slept in the night before. He nodded and she eased him down, carefully maneuvering him under the sheets and he felt himself sinking against the pillows.

“Stay?” The question left his lips without ever receiving permission to do so, and there was that smile of hers again.

Belle nodded. “I won’t go anywhere,” she promised and he closed his eyes, feeling himself drift off to sleep. He was safe, and for right now all of the questions and the things that could never be would have to  be dealt with later. It was just the fever, after all, and so he could enjoy the little flicker of light - the kind that actually _didn’t_ burn him - that came with her smile as he drifted off to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a backstory for a fic that I will be working on shortly called Burn the Worlds, which will be set about eighteen years after the Dark Curse is cast and will bring Magnus and his clerics into a cursed Storybooke.


End file.
